POETRY

If sun were god,
not of everywhere, just here,
how easy it would be
to believe.

How eagerly,
every single morning
we could bask
in its obvious glory.

Effortlessly we would
teach the children,
who grows and giveth
our food,

and where we stood
without its multi layered hands,
or invisible shield
against the void.

It does all of this
out of love, we would say,
It burns its essence
for our warmth.

And at night, when the moon,
the vigilant envoy,
away at its court
let other gods appear,

We would gossip
whether this or that god
was young, or old
or wise or bold.